A/N: A collection of drabbles originally written for the Snape100 community on Livejournal. I've collected these here for reference, convenience, and because I like drabbles. The number is the challenge. The text in italics under that is the title of the drabble itself.
Snape was not a man prone to excess. His needs were simple, and his tastes, through rigorous training, were genteel. He enjoyed fine wine, good food, and excellent sex. His work was uninteresting, but adequate for his purposes. This all culminated in someone who, given a different sort of circumstances, might have been truly great; but was why, presently, he merely ducked his head and hurried down a dark alley, muttering to himself 'out of temperance comes strength'. He overlooked first the offers of the street's wares, then their imprecations as they shouted their promises of a quick, clean lay.
Nothing to See Here
Rivalry had always been part of the game. Students hexed each other in the halls and professors ignored their favorite students' transgressions while simultaneously docking retaliators' points. McGonagall accused Snape of playing the favorites game, but truthfully, she was just as guilty.
When a swamp erupted in the entryway, McGonagall and Snape were the first to arrive on the scene with a handful of student rivals standing on the sidelines. Eyes narrowed and wands were drawn, but Snape's mouth twisted abruptly into a sneer.
"I didn't see anything, did you?"
McGonagall smiled in return. "Nothing to see here at all."
A Life Not Worth Saving
Arguably, it was Destiny that caused Potter to be their savior, and Voldemort's downfall. It was Snape's destiny to kill the only man who had ever retained faith in him. Destiny found the major players on a battlefield, picking through corpses to find their loved ones. And destiny dictated Snape would live, Potter would die, and a clan of Weasleys would come through, largely unscathed. Destiny found those redheads with their wands pointed at Snape's chest, and Destiny ordered Snape to fall to his knees, spent, unable to raise his own wand in defense of a life not worth saving.
#148: Under the Influence
Friends Don't Drink Alone
Severus looked up from his wingback chair to Minerva's stern face. "Probably," he agreed.
"Is this the example you wish to set for your students?" She entered his sitting room, bustling as she went. She always bustled, never walked. Severus laughed to himself, momentarily forgetting the question.
She shot him a glare that would have frozen hell; he managed an expression that looked almost contrite, but was mostly just comical. Finally, she laughed also. "Here, give me that bottle. I'd hate to think you were drinking alone."
He handed it to her, and they drank in companionable silence.
#153: Severus Snape and the Random Book Title
Severus Snape and the Quidditch Ball of Azkaban
Snape realized that his well-honed fantasies of languishing in solitary confinement in a French prison were the result of having read Papillona few too many times growing up. And for a brief moment, after the Dementors were summarily given pink slips, it seemed like his wish of just being left alone to rot would come true. However this business of trying to entertain the inmates with Quidditch wasn't to be borne.
"It will be a morale booster!" Some well-intentioned wizard undoubtedly said to a room of equally well-intentioned dunderheads.
Snape idly wondered how many of them he had taught.
#156: Snape's Gift
"What is it?" she asks, holding the hastily wrapped gift at arms' length, and wrinkling her nose delicately.
"Christmas gift… never mind. It doesn't matter." Severus mumbles and turns, hastily raking greasy hair out of his eyes. "This was a stupid idea."
"No, wait! I didn't mean… I mean. Thank you."
He stops, but doesn't turn back around. He can hear everyone laughing, even though he and Lily are the only ones in this alcove.
Then there's the sound of shredding paper, a sharply indrawn breath. He's already running down the hall by the time she calls out, "Happy Christmas…"
#409 AU: Law Enforcement
Snape frowned over the vials, wrinkling his prodigious nose in distaste at the odor emanating from them. "Is this everything?" he asked.
McGonagall glanced at him across the room from where she was crouched, catlike despite her age, over the body. "We haven't found anything else that even looks like it might be masquerading as evidence."
He snorted. "If those dunderheads you have working for you these days are doing the looking, it will be a miracle if you find much of anything."
They both flinched when they heard a clatter from another room and Weasley's distinctive voice shouting, "Sorry!"